


Jewels in the Crown of Our King

by ceallaig



Series: Call the Names [4]
Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Family Feels, Gen, House of Durin, Possible kleenex alert, Post-BOFA, all due respect, the Professor was wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:05:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceallaig/pseuds/ceallaig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin's coronation and the days leading up to it.  Conclusion of the series (but not necessarily the end of the story ... )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jewels in the Crown of Our King

**Author's Note:**

> This is the final story in this series. There are references back to each of the three previous stories, so I suggest that you read those first if possible.
> 
> The miraculous Loobeeinthesky has just done me the honor of a glorious piece of art to go with this story:  
> http://imgur.com/b2Cl5bO. Check out her other work, she is amazing!
> 
> The title of the story, and the title of the series, are from a wonderful song by Canadian folksinger Heather Dale.
> 
> If you wonder what the coronation music sounds like, pull out the Special Edition Hobbit soundtrack, and listen to disk 2, track 15, "Erebor". I heard that the first time and Thorin's coronation sprang full blown into my mind. (And yes, in case you wondered, the use of the word 'majestic' in the first paragraph was deliberate ... )
> 
> As always, comments GREATLY appreciated, hint hint.

_Call the names of the foemen who’ve fallen_  
Let them be carried like seeds on the wind  
And call the names of the kinsmen who followed  
Let them be jewels in the crown of our king.

\-- Heather Dale, “Call the Names”

It began with the eagle-scream of a single pipe, skirling barbaric and wild in the great hall, silencing the chatter of the assembled guests. It was joined by the thundering boom of drums and the majestic blare of horns. The doors at the end of the hall heaved open, and the royal honor guard entered. Tinkers, merchants, toymakers and miners no longer, the Company marched proudly in a double line to station themselves at the edges of the wide center aisle.

Following them came the royal household, heads high and gazes steady. Dis, in deep red velvet, her upswept hair and soft beard dotted with rubies winking like wine droplets in the lamplight, was flanked on either side by her sons. Kili wore teal and silver, the stag’s-head belt buckle made by the clever hands of his mother. Fili was in tawny brown, his lion’s-head sigil emblazoned on his jerkin in fine-worked gold thread. They came forward to climb the steps of the dais at the far end, the brothers positioning themselves on either side of the carved throne and Dis taking her place next to Fili. They exchanged a small smile, then their attention, and that of everyone assembled, was claimed by the next figures to enter the hall.

Thorin strode forward, his bearing regal and his eyes crystalline. His beard, which he had finally allowed to grow again, was caught into a single braid, held at the bottom by a jeweled clip of sapphire and mithril. A cape of midnight blue swept off wide shoulders, revealing the shimmer of silver-chased blue leather over dark silk. Dwalin, fierce in gleaming armor, and Balin, in the red and gold state robes of the Chief Steward, brought up the rear. The warrior stationed himself at the foot of the dais, stern eyes never still, sweeping the crowd for anyone foolhardy enough to threaten his Lord. The Steward climbed the steps behind Thorin, handing the cloth-draped cushion he carried to Kili.

Thorin acknowledged the bows of his family with a nod, then turned to face Balin, countenance softening at the smile in his old friend’s eyes. “Are you ready, lad?” Balin murmured, just loudly enough for Thorin to hear. The slightest nod, and then Balin began to speak. Traditionally the ceremony was in Khuzdul, and there was much debate over whether or not it should be this time. It had been rare in times past that anyone other than Dwarves attended a coronation. But this assembly was much more diverse, with Dwarves, Elves, Men and even a Hobbit in attendance. 

“Let all assembled here bear witness to the swearing of the oath,” Balin began in the Common tongue, voice ringing off the stone walls of the hall. Holding the sword of his office in his two hands, he turned to Thorin, who placed his own hand on the blade. “Do you, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, swear to govern your people with justice and mercy, to the best of your ability?

“I swear.” Thorin’s voice was low, but carried to every corner.

“And do you further swear to do all within your power to protect the people of this realm, pledging your life, your sword and your honor to the good of all?”

“I swear.”

“And do you take this oath freely, binding your life to the life of the kingdom?”

“I do.”

“Then kneel, Thorin, and receive the crown of the King.” Kili stepped forward to take the sword and handed Balin the covered cushion. The old Dwarf lifted the cloth to reveal the newly-designed crown. Thorin had rejected sketch after sketch before finally finding one he was happy with – most were far too elaborate for his taste. The chosen design was elegant but simple -- a circlet created of the finest gold and etched with runes for strength, protection and wisdom, but without gems or any other decoration. “Our people, home at last – they are the only jewels the King’s crown needs.” Fili and Kili had both smiled in agreement at his choice.

Thorin dropped to one knee as Balin lifted the crown over his head. “Let this crown be a tribute to the craft of Aulë, and may it carry the blessing of His wisdom to the heart of the King.” The crown was lowered onto Thorin’s head and he closed his eyes, feeling the weight of it and the responsibility it represented. He could feel the spirits of his forebears, and hoped they were well-pleased that this day had finally come.

Balin’s face glowed with joy as he said, “Now rise, King Thorin, and take the throne of your fathers. Long live the King!”

“Long live the King!” Two nephews sang it out proudly; a sister whispered it with tears; a Company shouted it so that the walls echoed. After destruction, exile, hardship and wandering, after the passage of far too many years and far too much heartache, the King was once again on his throne under the Mountain.

As was tradition, the heir was the first to swear allegiance to the King. Fili came forward and bowed to Thorin. His eyes shone as they gazed directly into his King’s, and his voice was strong and steady as he repeated the age-old oath: “I, Fili, son of Khedrin, do hereby pledge myself to the King’s service, and faith and truth will I bear unto you, from this day to the end of my life. I take this oath in the name of Durin the Deathless.”

“I, Kili, son of Khedrin, do hereby pledge … “

“I, Dis, daughter of Thrain, do hereby pledge …”

“I, Balin, son of Fundin, do hereby pledge … “

Dwalin, as King’s General, came forward after his brother to take the oath. There was a ripple of surprise among the Dwarves when the warrior bowed to Thorin; for the first time in anyone’s memory he did not keep his eyes on the person in front of him, but rather bowed low and with complete trust. Then he spoke the oath not in Common, but in Khuzdul; Thorin’s breath caught in his chest for a moment when, in place of the word for ‘king’, Dwalin substituted ‘Thorin’. His oath was not to the King, but to the Dwarf who had earned his loyalty. Thorin acknowledged the change with a soft smile, and swore his own oath in his heart to never take that gift for granted.

He looked down at the Company, who had been through so much together. That all were still alive after the slaughter of the battlefield was a miracle; that they all still believed in him was a blessing he likely did not deserve, but was grateful for all the same. Even the little Hobbit, who had more cause than any to shun him, had forgiven him and still counted him as a friend. What was it he had said to Balin that night in Bag End? “Loyalty, honor, a willing heart – I can ask no more than that.” They had given him all of that – now it was his task to be worthy of it.

So many threads had come together to weave the tapestry of this day, and it chilled him a little to think that, if even one of them had been missing or misplaced, it could have altered the pattern irrevocably. If they had not gotten Bilbo to come along; if Elrond had not been able to read the runes; if Gandalf had not procured the key; if Bard had missed his shot … He gave himself a mental shake – it did no good to dwell on what might have happened, far better to rejoice in the fortunes that had befallen them. Today was about remembering the past, living with the present, and looking toward the future.

 

The weeks and months leading up to the coronation had sped by – there were the wounded to tend, the dead to bury, the city to make habitable again. There were supplies to get in, fragile treaties to strengthen, borders to make secure. As soon as he was able to sit up for extended periods, Thorin was overseeing arrangements, often pushing himself perilously close to the limits of his abused body. Oin tried, without success, to get him to take a bit better care of himself. Fili and Kili came into the room one day just in time to hear Thorin shout, “I’m not some shale-spined invalid, I don’t need coddling!” and launch a tankard in the old Dwarf’s direction. It clanged against the wall, several feet away from its mark, and Oin beat a hasty retreat. The younger Dwarves saw Thorin wince and pale as his body protested against the sudden movement.

“No, what he needs is a mace to the side of his head – that might actually slow him down before he falls down,” Kili grumbled, just loudly enough for his brother to hear.

“He doesn’t want to be seen as weak, not even by us,” Fili said, “and I can understand that. But … “ and a small devious smile turned up the corners of his mouth, “it won’t matter that much if one of us is seen that way … “

They worked out the plan that night, and the next day at a meeting with the Men of Dale, they kept an eye on Thorin. Fili, at his left, noticed that while Thorin’s right hand stayed on the table, his left had clenched into a fist on his thigh, knuckles nearly white. Fili’s eyes stayed fixed on the Men across the table, but his hand, moving below the table’s edge, flickered a sign in iglishmêk to his brother, seated at Thorin’s right hand.

Kili let out a grunt, just loud enough to be heard, and shifted in his chair. Thorin looked at him with concern. “Are you all right?”

“I’m sorry, my Lord, “ Kili said with a slight grimace. “I find I’m not very well today. I beg leave to be excused.” He rose stiffly from his chair, and Fili noticed he was actually paler than usual. Perhaps this wasn’t that much of an act? 

“Of course,” Thorin said, the worry frown deepening between his eyes. “Gentlemen, it seems a shame that Prince Kili shouldn’t be here to witness the rest of this agreement, since he was instrumental in making it. May I suggest postponing the remainder of this meeting till tomorrow?”

There was a hurried discussion on the other side of the table, then the eldest Man said, “Of course, your Majesty. We will convene again tomorrow at this time, and hopefully his Highness will be able to attend.”

“Thank you for your understanding. Fili, see your brother to his room, I’ll be in to check on you later.” He nodded to the bows of the delegation, watched them leave, and sat for a moment, a variety of emotions playing across his face. Then he rose, nearly as stiffly as his nephew had, and headed to the living quarters.

The door was open to Kili’s room, and he was a bit surprised to actually find the young Dwarf curled up on the bed, with his brother sitting beside him. “How are you really, lad?” Thorin asked quietly

Kili tried a smile which didn’t quite make it to his eyes. Though the infection from the warg bites was gone, the wounds were still tender, and he tired much more rapidly these days than he’d have liked. “I’ve been better,” he finally admitted.

“Then it’s a good thing your little ruse worked, even if I was its intended target,” Thorin said, and his hand duplicated the same iglishmêk sign Fili had used. He held back a smile at the dismay on their faces. “Did you think you were the first to try that? Frerin and I talked to each other during meetings all the time that way. Once Thrain caught me doing it -- I didn’t think I’d live to see forty.” 

Fili smiled briefly, then sobered. “We’re sorry, Thorin; we probably shouldn’t have done it, but we were worried about you. If you don’t give yourself time to heal, you’ll do no one any good, least of all yourself.”

“I know, and I thank you for your concern. I will make you a bargain – if you will not do that again, I will … try not to overdo. Agreed?”

The brothers looked at each other – getting even that much of a concession out of their stubborn uncle was a victory. “Agreed,” Kili smiled.

“Good. Now get some rest, the Men will be expecting you back at the table tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

“And both of you do me a favor – look after yourselves, too, or we won’t have to worry about me working myself to death. Your mother will simply murder me in my sleep when she gets here.”

 

Dis arrived four months later, and Dwalin looked more exhausted than Thorin had ever seen him. “Never ask me to do that again, Thorin,” he growled. “The woman is a slave driver -- if she could have kept us going without food or rest, she’d have done it. We’d probably have been here sooner, but we ran into a snowstorm on the way and a pass was closed for a few days. I thought she’d order us to dig it out by hand!”

“And there was a time when you could have,” Dis said, coming into the room. “It’s all that soft living you’ve been doing.” Dwalin’s jaw dropped, then he stomped out, muttering something under his breath in Khuzdul that Thorin couldn’t catch – judging from the warrior’s stormy expression, perhaps it was just as well.

Dis ignored him. “Thorin, you haven’t been feeding the boys enough, they’re bone thin, both of them. And you’re not looking much better, you’ve been working too hard again, I’ll wager. Can’t seem to stop himself from taking the entire world on his shoulders,” she muttered, picking at the papers on his work table. 

He suppressed a chuckle. The fidgeting and fussing was what she used to do as a child when she became overtired. Though faint threads of silver now shone in her dark hair, some things never changed. “I am fine, the lads are fine. And it’s not just my shoulders carrying the burden anymore; Fili and Kili have been …. “

“Oh, overworking them too? No wonder they’re thin! If you think I’m going to let that continue … “

This time he couldn’t keep the laughter back. “Sister, stop!” He pulled her in for a hug, and she pushed at him for a moment before relenting, wrapping her arms around him and burying her face in his shoulder. He held her for a few moments, feeling the tension ease little by little. “Hush now; you’re home, they’re safe, it’s going to be all right.”

“I’ve been so worried, I didn’t hear from you for so long, I thought ….” came the muffled reply. “But I should have known – you’ve never once broken a promise to me. You gave your word you’d take care of them, and you did. “ Thorin’s eyes closed for a moment against the memory of seeing Fili and Kili after the battle, far too pale and far too still. He schooled his face to neutrality as Dis took a deep breath and pushed away from him, slapping his chest. “But you couldn’t have thought to send a raven now and again just to let me know?” 

“It’s not like we carried a flock of them in our baggage. And when you’re being nearly roasted alive by trolls and eaten by spiders, some things just slip your mind.”

She looked into his eyes. “You’re not joking, are you?” 

“No, but as you can see we are neither crisp nor digested, so all is well. And you will hear all about our adventures, I promise – just not this moment. Your chamber is waiting for you, and you need to get some rest. It’s been a long journey.”

“Is that a command from my King?” she said, struggling to keep a smile at bay.

“That is a request from your brother. We will have much to talk about, and all the time in the world to talk about it.” 

She raised one hand to his cheek. “You do look tired, Thorin, but you also look … content. It’s been a long while since I’ve seen you this way. All must indeed be well, or at least well enough.”

“It’s getting that way.” Thorin tucked her hand into his arm and led her out of the room and down the hall. “There is still a great deal of work ahead, but as I said, I’m not doing it alone. I’m not sure what I’d have done without the lads these last months. Fili has been in on every meeting and has probably kept me from killing more than one person who wouldn’t see reason. And with Balin’s tutoring, Kili is turning into quite the negotiator – it’s thanks to him we have enough food for the winter, and a trade agreement for the harvest season.”

“All right, who are these strangers and what have they done with my sons?”

“They’re growing up, my sister, and using the talents they were born with. Fili always was the one who could defuse a fight, and Kili could charm anyone into or out of anything.”

“Yes, as many a maid in Ered Luin found out,” Dis said dryly. ‘It’s good then that they’ve taken such an interest, since we all know you’re completely useless at either skill … “ 

Thorin raised an eyebrow but didn’t take the bait. His eyes grew soft, and a slight smile tugged at his lips. “What has helped more than anything is just having them here. Watching them become who they were meant to be – that is something I’m truly looking forward to. “

“In that case, I’m glad I let them come with you.”

“As am I,” Thorin said, remembering the dark days at the beginning, and his sister-sons pulling him into the light. _You’ll never know how much it meant._ “Get some sleep, Dis,” he told her as they stopped in front of her chamber door. “If you are too tired to come down to supper, I will have a tray brought up to you … “

“Oh no. Tired or not, we are all having supper together – you promised to tell me of some of your adventures. Dwalin mentioned something about a Hobbit named … Boggins, was it?”

“Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, and his story will likely require many nights. We can begin it tonight if you wish. Quite an extraordinary Hobbit, though you’d never think so to look at him. It’s like Thror used to say, ‘Even the lowest rock can hide a geode.’” He took her hands in his and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “Rest well, sister, and welcome home.”

 

A few days later, Kili was dressing when he heard the door open, and his mother’s footsteps coming into his rooms. He was shirtless, but didn’t think anything of it; Mahal knew she’d seen him in every state of dress and undress since he was born. “Kili, we’re going to be late …“ he heard her say, then her words were cut off by a stifled shriek.

He whipped around to see Dis standing in the doorway of the bedchamber, all the blood drained from her face and her hands pressed to her mouth. “Mum, what is it?” he asked anxiously, rushing to her side and maneuvering her into a chair. She collapsed into it, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on the scars on his torso. He knelt in front of her, taking her hands. “I’m all right, Mum, really. You’ve seen battle scars before.”

“Not like that … not on you,” she managed to gasp out. Her eyes met his, and Kili’s heart twisted at the pain in them. He cursed himself for his stupidity – he’d grown used to the scars, as had everyone else here, and didn’t even notice them anymore. And it wasn’t as though he had to see the scars to call up the memories – they were always alive at the back of his mind. He reached blindly for a shirt and started to pull it on, but she stopped him. “No … let me look.” Her face was still pale, but determined.

Kili put the shirt down and straightened to give her a good look. Dis reached out a hand and ghosted it over the scars – sword slashes, spear grazes, each mark telling a story she could hardly bear to hear. A small cry escaped her when she got to the terrible marks from the warg’s savagery – despite being healed, they still looked red and angry. She looked into his face, and tears threatened to overflow the blue eyes. “How is it you’re not dead?” she whispered. 

“I almost was,” he admitted. “And you can thank Fili that I’m not. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to talk Thranduil into sending his personal healer to me.”

If he had told her that Aulë Himself had come down to lay healing hands on him, Dis could not have been more astonished. “Thranduil … of Mirkwood?” she queried, as if certain there must be more than one of that name.

Kili smiled. “Hard to credit, isn’t it?”

“Nearly impossible,” she replied, and Kili was relieved to see some color coming back into her face. She sat quietly for a moment, digesting this information. “It would seem that both my sons have been blessed – one with the gift of life, the other with a silver tongue. And here Thorin told me you were the diplomat of the family.” Her smile was tremulous but real, and Kili returned it. Then her face grew sober again. “Fili … and Thorin? How bad were they?”

“Bad enough. Lady Daerwen looked after them, too.”

“An Elven healer,” she murmured. Kili watched conflicting emotions warring in her face – longstanding distrust of the Elves vied with gratitude, and the kinder emotion won. “Make sure Thorin invites her to the coronation, I want to meet her.” She looked directly into his eyes. “Are you really all right now?’

“Yes,” he insisted, but she just kept looking at him, as she had when he was small and knew he was trying to hide a childish misdeed. His gaze dropped away, and he finally said, “I’ve … been having … dreams.” The words came out softly and painfully.

“About the battle?” Kili nodded miserably. “Does Fili know?”

“He heard me one night. I made him swear never to tell Thorin.” The lost look in the hazel eyes almost broke Dis’ heart. “And you can’t tell him, either.”

“Never,” Dis promised. She took her son’s face in her hands and brought his gaze up to meet hers. She wished she could tell him about the dreams Thorin had suffered through after the dragon attack and seeing his grandfather and brother cut down at Azanulbizar, but the secret wasn’t hers to reveal. Instead she said, “Many a warrior has had such dreams after battle. They fade in time, and so will yours. They are nothing to be ashamed of, and it doesn’t mean you’re any less brave. It just means you’ve seen things no one should ever have to.”

“That’s what Fili said. He told me the only reason he hasn’t been having them is because he doesn’t remember a lot of it. I wish I didn’t.”

“So do I, my _ghivasha,_ but I’m proud of you, and I know Thorin is too, though he may never say it.” She saw gooseflesh forming on his arms from the chill in the room. “Put your shirt on now, you’re going to get cold.”

“Are you all right now?” he asked, his eyes searching her face as he picked up the tunic.

She nodded. “Yes.” A glint of steel shot into her eyes as she added, “But your uncle may not be by the time I’m done with him.”

 

Plans for the coronation ceremony took up more time than Thorin had patience for, but he knew Balin was right when he said it was necessary to do this. He left protocol in the Chief Steward’s capable, if slightly disgruntled, hands, and turned his attention to the matter of a memorial. It still weighed on his mind that many had died to help him regain the throne, and asking the skaldi to compose a ballad just did not seem to be enough. The sacrifice required something of permanence, but he was at a loss to think what that might be.

It was Kili who provided the solution. He came into Thorin’s chamber one morning with a nervous Ori in tow, and a roll of parchment in his hands. “I think I might have it, Thorin … or I should say, I think Ori might have it.” He spread out the parchment to reveal a drawing of a carved tablet, with massive dimensions marked in the borders. “This is your work, Ori; tell us about it.”

Ori cleared his throat. The young Dwarf had been through hardships and bloody battles, maturing greatly in the process, but Thorin’s presence seemed to reduce him to dwarrow status again. “We did some measuring, and this will fit on the east wall of the great hall. It allows the names of those who died to be easily read from anywhere in the room.” As he concentrated on his subject, his voice became calmer, and Thorin did his best not to loom any more than necessary. “There is a stone that will reflect like a mirror when it’s properly polished. The quarry is not too far from here. The tablet will be in three sections, one each for the names of the Dwarves, the Elves, and the Men who died in the battle. And all the names will be in all three languages, so everyone can read them.”

“We’re not the only ones who lost kin that day,” Kili said before Thorin could voice an objection. “It was also a Man’s arrow that put an end to Smaug. And if it hadn’t been for an Elven healer, my name would be on that roll.”

As much as it galled him to concede to anything having to do with the Elves, Thorin had to acknowledge the justice of this. “Point taken,” he finally said, nodding. “Well done, both of you. But I think it’s missing something.” He picked up a quill and sketched a circle in the top center of the drawing. “It needs to be seen, not locked away and forgotten. Never forgotten,” he said softly. “What say you?” he asked Fili.

Fili smiled, prouder of his uncle and King than he’d ever been in his life. “Yes,” he managed around the lump in his throat.

Kili looked a bit puzzled, but the expression cleared – he knew it would be explained later, and Fili’s smile told him all was well. “We’ll need some help from the Elves to work the Tengwar script – and a Dwarf willing to carve it.”

“I’ll talk to Prince Legolas; he’s already proved himself open to working with us,” Fili said. “And if it’s presented as an artistic challenge, I’m sure we can find a Dwarf willing to prove he’s capable of beating an Elf at his own game. Pride of craftsmanship should also ensure against ‘mistakes’ made during the carving.”

“It needs to be started soon if it’s to be finished in time, this will be no easy task,” Kili reminded them. 

“Then I suggest you and Ori get to work making arrangements,” Thorin said, his expression serious but with a smile in his eyes.

Kili and Ori looked at each other, not sure if they’d heard correctly. Then Ori flushed with pleasure, and Kili’s face glowed as he said, “As our King commands.”

 

“Thorin, you’ll never believe who we got the first reply from about the coronation,” Fili said, a slightly puzzled look on his face as he entered Thorin’s chambers. 

“Who?” Thorin asked, looking up from the mass of papers on his table. A headache was forming behind his eyes, and a bit of distraction right now seemed a good idea. “And what is that package?”

“Part of the reply, I think. It was just delivered by a messenger from Mirkwood.”

“I expected to hear from him last, if at all. So, what does he have to say?”

Fili opened the note attached to the package, read it, and broke into a mischief-tinged smile. “Well, the note is to me, but I think the package is for you. “ He handed it over to Thorin, who unwrapped the end to reveal the distinctive dragon-tooth hilt of Orcrist. He nearly dropped the blade in his astonishment.

“Thranduil sent this back?” He’d thought the Goblin Cleaver lost forever after their escape.

Fili, still grinning, read the note aloud. “’Your invitation was received with pleasure, and we look forward to joining you on Durin’s Day. Daerwen sends her thanks also, and would be delighted to wait upon Princess Dis at her convenience. We also beg a small favor of you. Your King left this behind during his last visit to our realm. My lord father has been meaning to send it on for some time now, and apologizes for the delay. I am pleased to restore this to its rightful owner on his behalf. May it grace His Majesty’s halls for many years to come. Legolas Greenleaf.’” Fili chuckled. “Oh, I would not want to be within a league of him when Thranduil finds out!”

“Sounds as if the lad is more granite than sandstone,” Thorin said with an approving smile. “And we needn’t embarrass his father by mentioning the delay … ever.”

 

It wasn’t long before the other replies started flowing in. A raven had been dispatched with an invitation to Lord Elrond – had it not been for his ability to read the moon runes, the expedition might well have failed. His acceptance arrived in due course, along with a caravan of supplies for the coronation feast. Dain, Bard, and Beorn also accepted. As no one knew where Gandalf could be found, word was left at his usual haunts – Thorin knew the wizard had his own methods of finding things out, and if he could be there on Durin’s Day, he would be.

Bilbo had been nervous about the return trip to Erebor – considering his possessions were auctioned off when he left Bag End the last time, he was understandably afraid of what could happen in his absence. Bofur volunteered to head the escort team, and the sight of a party of heavily armed Dwarves was enough to convince even the Sackville-Bagginses that ‘borrowing without permission’ would be summarily dealt with upon Bilbo’s return.

Bilbo arrived a few days before the coronation. Bofur had sent word ahead, and shouts of greeting echoed in the courtyard as the entire Company descended on the halfling, all chattering at once. He was lifted bodily off his pony and subjected to a round of back slaps, hugs and hair tousles that would have felled a lesser Hobbit. “All right, that’s enough – you’re going to kill him before he even gets a chance to sit down,” Kili laughed. He gathered Bilbo in a rib-creaking hug. “How was your journey?”

“Well, I have to say it’s a much more pleasant trip when one isn’t being chased by Orcs and wargs. But I am tired and more than a bit dusty. Is there someplace I can rest and clean up?”

“Your room is waiting for you; come with me. I’ve already sent word to bring some food up to you. And we’re all meeting for supper tonight; something of a reunion.”

“I trust there won’t be any walking across the table or wiping boots on furniture.”

“Not if I’d like to see another sunrise.”

“Thought as much – you reserve that behavior for strangers.” Kili had the good grace to look a bit ashamed of himself, and Bilbo laughed. “Well, we all survived much worse than that, so it’s water under the bridge. You’re looking a deal better than you were the last time I saw you. I’m glad of that – you had everyone scared half to death, especially Thorin. How is he?”

“He’s well, almost back to his old self … Mahal help us. He’s left orders for you to be undisturbed until supper, so take it easy. You’ll need your strength – my mother is lying in wait for you.”

“I look forward to finally meeting Princess Dis after everything I’ve heard.”

“Ah, you say that now, but you haven’t been on the receiving end of one of her grillings.”

“Not at all worried.”

“No?”

“No. You see, I have a secret weapon,” Bilbo replied with a smug smile.

“What?” 

“You’ll find out … at supper.” And he refused to say another word.

Bilbo came down to supper looking dapper in his second best suit (his best one was being saved for the coronation) and bearing an oversized knapsack. It was a bit early, so Thorin, Fili, and Kili were the only ones there, along with a tall female Dwarf who could only have been Thorin’s sister, so much did she resemble him. He walked straight up to Dis, put the knapsack on the floor next to him, and bowed low before her. “Your Highness, allow me to introduce myself. I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, at your service.”

“You are most welcome here, Master Baggins. My family has told me many stories about you, and I look forward to some very interesting and informative conversations.” Her tone was sweet, but Bilbo had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at the look of horror exchanged by her sons, standing just behind her on either side.

“At your Highness’ pleasure. If I may, I would like to present you with a small gift, both to welcome you back to your home, and in appreciation of your hospitality.” He opened the knapsack and extracted a paper wrapped parcel, which he presented to Dis with both hands. “To keep you warm on the chill winter nights here in Erebor, and remind you of a Hobbit who will always be at your service, and that of your family.”

Dis opened the paper and pulled out a finely-crocheted shawl of pale pearl gray, soft as a cloud and smelling faintly of lavender. “It’s the finest and warmest yarn work you’ll find anywhere. It belonged to my mother Belladonna, and I think she would like knowing that it will be worn by a princess.”

Dis was speechless for a moment, caressing the softness and admiring the intricate pattern. “It’s a beautiful and very thoughtful gift, Master Baggins,” she finally said with a brilliant smile. “I shall cherish this, and I will be honored to wear it in memory of Mistress Belladonna. Thank you.” She leaned down and bestowed a kiss on his cheek, and he looked down at his feet to hide the flaming blush.

“If you’ll allow me, sister,” Thorin murmured, lifting the shawl from her hands and placing it gently around her shoulders, giving Bilbo an approving smile over her shoulder. That calmed Bilbo back down, and he reached once more into his knapsack, handing two small parcels to Fili and Kili. “For you two, a bit of something to keep you warmer on cold night watches.”

The pouches were hand-tooled and dyed leather, supple and waterproofed, embellished with the Durin royal crest. “That’s top-quality Longbottom leaf, best in the Shire, if not all of Middle Earth. We Hobbits may not be great warriors, but we do know our pipeweed.” This got him a double-barreled hug that literally left him breathless.

Another packet was extracted from the sack, and Bilbo smiled up at Thorin. “There is little that a Hobbit can give a King, besides his friendship. But I thought that, while you’re looking to the future, it might be restful to ponder the past a bit now and then.” 

The wrapping came away to reveal a small leather-bound book, obviously old but well cared for. Thorin flipped it open, and a puzzled frown appeared between his eyes. “Poetry?”

“Not just any poetry. This is a collection of ballads about the great heroes of Middle Earth. It has been in my family for generations. My great-great-great-great-uncle Bullroarer Took is in there. So are Gil-galad, Eorl, Girion and Elendil. And if you look, you’ll find ballads to more than one Dwarf, including your own ancestor, Durin the Deathless. It seemed right that it should be in the hands of a warrior.”

“I believe it already has been,” said Thorin, a softness in his face that brought the blush creeping back into Bilbo’s cheeks, “but this warrior thanks you, and will keep this at his side always.”

Bilbo was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of the rest of the Company, and he spent the next several minutes dispensing the rest of the gifts he’s brought. By the time he was done, he was certain there were more than a couple of cracked ribs or dislocated vertebrae, but he was so happy he didn’t really mind the aches.

The meal was boisterous and happy, and Bilbo, in his seat between Fili and Kili, couldn’t help looking over at Thorin. The normally solemn and gruff King seemed almost a changed Dwarf, with a peace about him that nearly glowed. When, after supper, instruments appeared and music began, Thorin’s harp could be heard above the rest. 

Dis received many compliments on the shawl, and Kili leaned over to murmur to Bilbo, “Secret weapon, eh?”

Bilbo grinned. “’A pretty gift, prettily given, will always win a woman’s favor.’ This from my mother Belladonna, who was always right about such things.”

“Wise woman, your mum. So how did she manage to produce a clot like you?” 

Bilbo regarded Fili coolly. “Remember those ‘informative’ conversations your mother wants to have?” The unspoken implication was not lost on the blonde Dwarf, who winced and busied himself with getting a refill on his tankard. 

Bilbo smiled with satisfaction and relaxed, enjoying the music. When Bofur called over to him, asking for a song from the Shire, he was mellow enough from the honey mead that he agreed. He began a simple ditty that Bofur was able to pick up on his flute, accompanying the Hobbit’s clear tenor through several verses. He grew expansive enough by the end that he was dancing a bit. The mead had done its work a bit too well, however, and he lost his balance, tipping backward into his seat. He joined in the laughter at his expense, then said, “And on that note …. “

“Off key though it was,” interjected Bofur, grinning.

“I think I’d better call it a night.” He rose carefully and walked up to Dis, inclining his head in honor – in his current state, he didn’t trust a proper bow. “Good night, your Highness, it has been an honor to meet you at last.”

“The honor is mine, Master Baggins.” She caressed the shawl under her fingers. “Thank you again for this. And you will call me Dis now, to please me.”

“If you will call me Bilbo – ‘Master Baggins’ is far too grand for a Hobbit like me.”

“If my kin are to be believed, it is not grand enough, and there are no Hobbits like you. Sleep well, Bilbo.”

He smiled and turned toward his friends. “Good night, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow … but not too early, mind.” That got a laugh, and he grinned, blinking a bit blearily. “Now if someone would be good enough to point me in the right direction … “

“I’ll walk you back,” Thorin said. “No, everyone stay where you are, I’ll be back shortly,” he admonished as a few of the Company began to rise from their seats. He put a gentle hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, guiding him out the door and down the hall as the music started up again. He hid a smile as Bilbo started humming along with the music, punctuated by a small belch in the middle of the tune. He reminded himself to have something not quite as potent available during the coronation feast.

They arrived at Bilbo’s room and Thorin looked down at Bilbo. “Goodnight, Bilbo, and thank you for coming back for this. It would not have been the same without you. You promised to help us win back our home, and you kept your word despite everything.”

“I am at the King’s service … and the service of my friend,” Bilbo smiled.

“And you always have been – even when the King was too stupid to realize it, and the friend was far less a friend than he should have been. “

“That’s over and forgotten now. I look forward to your reign, King Thorin – I expect it to be worthy of a ballad that will rival any in that book I gave you.”

“Thank you. Sleep well, _bâhel,_ and we will talk more tomorrow.”

Bilbo slipped inside his room, undressed and pulled on his nightshirt. Climbing unsteadily into the high bed, he smiled once again at the difference in Thorin. _Mahal,_ he prayed silently, certain that the Maker would not mind a plea from a non-Dwarf on behalf of one of His children, _grant him the life he’s fought so hard to win. Give him enough joy to outweigh all the sorrow he’s seen._ A soft smile graced his gentle features as sleep claimed him.

 

“Mum, you look beautiful,” Fili smiled, leaning in to kiss his mother’s cheek.

“I do, rather, don’t I?’ Dis preened a bit. The gown was by far the most elegant one she’d had in many years – there had been no money for finery during their wanderings and little need of it when times were better. It was cut snug on the bodice and flared below the waist, showing off her buxom figure to excellent advantage. “I just pray my hair stays up through the whole thing – if you melted down all the pins in it you could likely make a fine battle-ax.”

“It wouldn’t dare disobey you, today of all days.” Kili kissed her other cheek. 

“And look at you both, as handsome as can be. I wish your father could see you now, he’d be so proud.”

“As he should be – of all of you.” Thorin took his sister’s hands, smiling softly. Looking into her eyes, he could still see the tiny dwarrow-maid, bundled to safety after the dragon attack, who spent many a night curled up with one or the other of her brothers, shaking in the aftermath of yet another nightmare. He saw the young adult, learning with her mother and grandmother how to cook and clean, mend and make do. He saw the new bride, glowing with happiness on her wedding day, and the new mother presenting her sons to their father. He saw the widow, holding back the tears until the visitors had gone, then crumpling into her brother’s arms to sob out her dead husband’s name, over and over again. And time had come full circle – once again she was the princess she was born to be. He thanked any powers that might be listening that she had been able to see this day.

“You lads get into line; I’ve something to tell your uncle.” Fili and Kili walked ahead, Balin and Dwalin stepped back a few paces, and Dis reached up to touch Thorin’s cheek. Though he was smiling, she could see the tightness in his shoulders, the anxiety that clouded the brilliant eyes. “It’s finally here, brother, and you have made it happen. Deep breath, now, and remember …. “ She reached up to whisper something in his ear, and his bark of laughter caused everyone to turn around and look at him in astonishment. Dis lifted her head regally and swept away to stand with her sons, and Thorin recovered his dignity enough to signal the waiting Dwarf that he was ready. A moment later the music began.

 

When the last vow had been given, and the last of the protocol satisfied, Thorin rose from the throne, his face solemn. “My people, my family, and our honored guests, I welcome you today and thank you for joining in this ceremony. This is a day both of celebration and remembrance, and it belongs in part to every person here. As we look to the promise of the years ahead and the deepening of ties between our peoples, I ask today that we take a moment to pay tribute to those who have gone before. As I was reminded recently, it was not just Dwarven blood that was shed in the great battle, but the blood of Elves and Men also. The sacrifice of the fallen must be remembered for all the generations to come, so that the alliances forged that day may remain strong. 

“To that end, a memorial has been made, to remain in this hall for as long as Erebor stands. This tribute was a joint effort by all our peoples, the first such since the construction of the West-gate of Khazad-dûm. It is my hope that it marks the beginning of many more such efforts, to the mutual benefit of all.”

Thorin raised his hand toward the east wall, and the assembled guests turned as the heavy drape was dropped, revealing the memorial. Immense and black, the three-section tablet shone with a polish bright enough to reflect the images of the crowd. Meticulously carved into the stone were line upon line of names in the angular runes of the Dwarves, the flowing Tengwar script of the Elves, and the neat compact characters of the Common tongue. All the names of the slain were recorded in each language, for all to read. Above these names, in the center top of the tablet, glowed the Arkenstone, out of its hiding place, a reminder that light could come out of darkness, and even great evil could be turned into great good.

“I now ask that the heirs of the three kingdoms step forward to call the names of the fallen – Fili of Erebor, Legolas of Mirkwood, and Bard of Dale. Let all assembled hear the names and remember the sacrifice of our kin.”

Fili moved forward and down to the top step of the dais, where he was met by Legolas and Bard. Fili began the call, shoulders squared and head high. The Dwarven names had the strength of the mountains in them – the spine and bones of the earth, sturdy and unyielding. The names washed over Thorin – so many he knew either personally or from family records. His eyes met Dain’s, and he saw his pain reflected in the old warrior’s eyes.

When Fili finished, he stepped back, head bowed in homage as Legolas took up the call. The names of the Elves had the strength of water in them – flowing, sparkling, conquering with the inexorable patience of years. Thorin watched as even the normally impassive face of the Elvenking registered sorrow, and Elrond’s expressive eyes filled with unshed tears.

Legolas stepped back, head also bowed, and Bard took up the call. The names of the Men had the strength of the land in them, of tilled fields and laden trees, of growth and nurturing. His eyes reflected all the generations of his people back to Girion as he read the names.

Thorin swallowed hard before speaking again – so many husbands, fathers, brothers and sons lost. “Our three peoples fought and died side by side, and their mingled blood has christened this land. May it become fruitful once again as it was in times past. Today let us, their kin, unite to honor their passing, and to celebrate their victory. I invite you all to join me in a feast where we may remember the deeds great and small that will live on in our hearts.”

The talk during the banquet was filled with stories, tales of battle and remembrances of every day life. After the feast there was music, serious ballads and bright ditties, sung in all the languages of the three peoples. At one point, Bofur brought out his flute for a song and was joined by a graceful Elven flutist, her notes blending with his in perfect harmony. Thorin glanced over at Elrond, whose smile reflected his own, and raised his cup in salute. There were tears, but there was also laughter, hanging in the air like rainbows after a storm – grief and healing in equal measure.

Kili, with Dis on his arm, approached the stately Elven healer. Daerwen started to bow, but Kili stopped her. “My lady, you bow to no one here – ever. My lady mother has asked to be presented to you. Lady Daerwen, Princess Dis.”

Dis dropped into a deep curtsy. “Thank you, Lady Daerwen – thank you for the life of my son.” Her hand tightened on Kili’s arm.

“Prince Kili’s life was in his own hands, Highness – he is strong and so was his will to live. I merely helped it along a bit.” A shadow crossed the elegant face. “I am a mother myself; the loss of a child is no easy thing to bear. I am pleased yours was restored to you.” Dis’ breath caught in her chest for a moment, and impulsively she reached out to take Daerwen’s hand. The Elf looked startled, then a small, sad smile appeared as her grip tightened in Dis’ hand. _Mahal, watch over our children – all our children,_ Dis prayed silently. _Let not another mother know such pain._

Later, she saw Kili, Bard and Legolas huddled together in a corner of the room. “What do you suppose they’re plotting over there?” she asked Thorin.

“I smell an archery tournament brewing. Kili has been itching to match his skills against theirs.”

“Who do you think would win?”

“Hard to say. Kili is as good as any I’ve ever seen, but Bard did make the shot that killed Smaug, no easy feat. However, Legolas has had more time to practice than either of them. Plus, he’s an Elf, he can probably sing his arrows to their targets,” Thorin chuckled.

Dis smiled. “You do know you’re looking at the future, brother. Are you ready for it?”

Thorin looked over at Thranduil, and saw he was watching the three archers also. The Elvenking looked over at him, and their eyes met. Thorin inclined his head to his fellow monarch, and Thranduil returned the nod with what might have been the ghost of a smile. There was too much history between them to ever be more than uneasy allies, Thorin thought, but with work on both their parts, there might be a chance for their heirs to make a fresh start.

“Am I ready? To be honest, I don’t know.” His smile was bright as he looked at his sister. “But I do know I’m ready to find out.”

 

_All sorrow fail and sadness  
At the Mountain-king’s return!_

\-- JRR Tolkien, “The King Beneath the Mountains”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Bâhel_ – friend of all friends  
>  _Ghivasha_ \-- treasure


End file.
